


you say my name with heat like fire

by Evoxine



Series: fire bright, fire fight. [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 17:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: A collection of vignettes; little tidbits of this universe that are meant to 1) introduce the background of the characters, and 2) serve as insights into the relationship between Sehun and Jongin (as well as the other team members).





	you say my name with heat like fire

**Author's Note:**

> These vignettes are in no particular order, but the first few are set before the formation of the task force.  
> The other ones are less specific in terms of where they fit in the timeline, but some have rough time markers.  
> All are set before the ending of the main fic – i.e. before they got together.

**i. recruitment.**  
  
There were far too many things pushing Jongin to leave New York compared to those pulling him to stay. He’d lost his Captain in a shootout, his parents were going through an ugly divorce, and his long-time girlfriend had just left him for one of his best friends. That email from the Chief of Department seemed like a beacon of hope. He’d read the subject – _FBI Task Force: Info and Applications_ –, barely scanned through the email itself, and immediately decided to apply.  
  
The gruelling period of interviews, examinations (of all sorts), and mock cases distracted him from all the shit going on in his life. It was… nice. He had things to focus on, things that dissuaded him from drinking himself into a stupor on Saturday nights, things that encouraged him to spend an extra thirty minutes at the gym.  
  
Almost three months after his initial application, he’d gotten a call from SSA Kim Minseok.  
  
“We’d like you to come in for a final interview,” he’d said. “When would be a good time for you?”  
  
“I’ll take a red eye out tonight,” Jongin had replied, already moving to pack a bag, too eager to get out of his suffocating apartment. “I can be there by tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
“Great. I will send you an email containing additional information.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**ii. recruitment, again.**  
  
Seulgi has never liked the colour green. So having to wear green berets with a green beret patch tends to have her rolling her eyes whenever she puts it on. There are, however, occasions when she doesn’t mind the green so much – on the days when she’s returning home from deployment. Don’t misunderstand; she loves her job, loves being part of the Special Forces, loves serving her country. But her job is by no means a walk in the park, and towards the end of each (six months long!) deployment, she always finds herself craving long, hot showers, her lovely king-sized bed, and her dog.  
  
There’s a knock on her door, and Seulgi looks up to see her Sergeant standing in the doorway, a hand on the frame.  
  
“There’s a call for you,” he says. “From the FBI. Sounds important.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Her Sergeant is clearly curious, and so is she. When she answers the call, he lingers around, and Seulgi settles for a staring contest as she talks.  
  
“What’d they want?” He speaks up the second she hangs up.  
  
Seulgi’s still got a hand resting on the handset of the phone, and the furrow between her brows grows a little deeper with each passing second.  
  
“They want me to join a FBI task force.”  
  
Her Sergeant blinks at her, and Seulgi chews on her lip in contemplation. Working for the FBI would mean she would be entering the Reserves, with special considerations regarding her status as a law enforcement officer.  
  
She’s never known anything else. Ever since she’d enlisted for the Army at 17 years of age, her life has revolved around training, deployment, and doing her sworn duty. Leaving the Army would be like leaving a limb behind, and she’s not quite sure how comfortable she is with that. It’s better pay though, and she would get to go home most nights. Her parents would love to see her more often, and perhaps she’d finally get a chance to be in a relationship without an expiration date.  
  
“What are you going to do?”  
  
“I’m… going to think about it.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**iii. reassignment.**  
  
Sehun walks into his office to find everything on his desk packed into a cardboard box, with a letter resting on the top of the pile. He pushes the swell of panic – did I get fired? But I haven’t done anything wrong? – down past the hammering of his heart and picks up the letter, index finger flipping back the flap and pulling out the paper inside.  
  
_Special Agent Oh:_  
  
_You’ve been assigned to a new task force. Your new office is now on the 18th floor. Look for SSA Kim Minseok for further briefing._  
  
“Are you se – they couldn’t have fucking _emailed_?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**iv. rookie.**  
  
Minseok looks up from his desk when he sees someone entering the empty bullpen. Tall, muscled, unfairly good looking. Ah, must be Choi Minho from the counterintelligence unit. Minseok stands, shaking out the constant ache in his knee, and heads out into the bullpen.  
  
“Special Agent Choi?”  
  
At Minho’s nod, Minseok introduces himself. “I’m your new boss, Kim Minseok.”  
  
“SSA Kim; it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Minho sets his box of belongings down on a desk and reaches out to grasp Minseok’s hand. “Ah, am I the first one here?”  
  
“You are,” Minseok says, resting his weight on an empty desk. “Special Agent Oh should be coming in soon. Detective Kim is currently going through a slew of administrative procedures, and Army Specialist Kang is due to arrive in Washington over the next few days.”  
  
Just as Minho’s opening his mouth to ask a question, a tentative knock sounds on the glass door. Both men turn around to find a young, nervous face staring back at them.  
  
“Um, are you SSA Kim? I’m Agent Seo; I was told to report to you today…”  
  
Minseok frowns. “I wasn’t told there would be a fifth member on the team.”  
  
Agent Seo blanches, and Minho watches with amusement as the agent digs around in his pockets. After a few moments, he produces a sheet of paper. Minseok takes it from him, scans it, and shrugs.  
  
“Welcome to the task force, Agent Seo.” Minseok says, waving the letter in the air. “Better put your seatbelt on; it’s going to be a hell of a ride for you, Rookie.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**v. the traffic police.**  
  
Barely a month into the task force’s establishment, Sehun’s already come close to popping a blood vessel multiple times. The number is probably in the dozens, honestly.  
  
“For fuck’s sakes,” he yells, standing at one side of the road with a hand gesturing madly in the air. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”  
  
“What?!” Jongin yells back from the other side, yanking the perp up from the sidewalk. “Why are you so mad?! I got him, didn’t I?”  
  
“You _ran through oncoming traffic_ , you fuckwit! Are you _trying_ to get your legs broken?!”  
  
Sehun can barely make out the features of Jongin’s face across the road, but he’s pretty sure that his partner’s giving him his Please, I’m Still Alive, Aren’t I? Face. He’s seen that Face plenty of times over the past few weeks, and it’s starting to haunt his dreams.  
  
Sehun waits until the road’s cleared up before sprinting over to where Jongin’s currently trying to get their perp to “walk forward, damnit, or I’ll knee you in the balls and drag you all the way back to the car.”  
  
When Sehun catches up to them, Jongin turns and winks at him. Momentarily stunned, it takes a sudden scuffle between Jongin and the perp to bring him back to his senses. He slaps the guy upside the head, ignores the perp’s whining and threats of suing them for physical assault, and shoves him forward.  
  
“Keep walking, and shut the fuck up.”  
  
“Why? So you two can go back to arguing like my Ma and Pa?”  
  
“Shut up,” Sehun says again.  
  
“I wouldn’t argue in front of my kid,” Jongin says. Sehun gives him a funny look.  
  
Minho, Seulgi, and Johnny round the corner, and Seulgi takes one look at Sehun’s constipated face before bursting out in laughter.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**vi. tactile.**  
  
It doesn’t take Sehun long to learn that, unlike himself, Jongin wears his heart on his sleeve. His partner’s always been the better one at comforting victims’ families, at soothing the frayed nerves of scared children, at convincing witnesses to speak up, because it’ll help them put bad guys away.

Jongin is also very tactile.

It had started off as light taps to get Sehun’s attention, or a hand on the shoulder as they discussed infiltration plans. Then, as the months progressed, it became a warm palm pressed against Sehun’s lower back, an arm thrown across his shoulders, a squeeze to the thigh. Sometimes, after a case that is particularly stressful or dangerous, Jongin will give his teammates hugs. Sehun always registers the hand curled around his neck, snug below the base of his skull.

Sehun usually doesn’t mind when people touch him like that. It’s comforting, for the most part. But when it comes to Jongin’s touches, they always seem to rev him up more than calm him down. It becomes a drug, his heart desperate for that jolt.

But it’s hard to demand something without giving in return, so Sehun finds himself reciprocating. Just small touches, nothing telling, nothing passing any sort of boundary. It seems to work — Jongin responds to him more than their other team members, and there are touches that only Sehun seems to receive.

It’s a weird sort of dependency, Sehun realises, but he can’t help it. Jongin depends on it too; he’s quieter, more withdrawn, whenever Sehun has a bad day and pulls away from him.

If any of their other teammates notice anything, no one vocalises it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**vii. explode.**  
  
“You should really —”  
  
Jongin shuts him up with an irritated glare. “I’m not going anywhere. Now shut up and let me focus.”  
  
Sehun really wants to argue, wants to tell Jongin that there are people that’ll miss him if the bomb goes off and blows him up in minuscule pieces. Wants to tell him that he doesn’t want to be the reason Jongin gets blown up into minuscule pieces. Wants to tell him that he’s stupidly in love with him and his adrenaline junkie ways. Wants to tell him to _live, god-fucking-damnit._  
  
Instead, he settles for swallowing past the painful lump in his throat, eyes cast downwards at where the bomb strapped to his chest is slowly ticking down. They’ve got three minutes left, and Jongin’s fingers are surprisingly steady as they trail along the wires.  
  
There’re beads of sweat rolling down his temples, soaking into the cotton of his shirt. Jongin doesn’t seem much better off; Sehun can see the shine of his skin through the open collar of his shirt.  
  
“Are you…”  
  
“No,” Jongin mumbles, lips parted as he squints at the jumble of wires. “But I’m all you’ve got.”  
  
Sehun wants to laugh, perhaps a little deliriously. Yeah, he thinks. Jongin is really all he’s got.  
  
Two minutes.  
  
Jongin is close enough so that Sehun can smell his aftershave, the sharp, clean scent contrasting with the musk of his sweat.  
  
“It’s been,” he starts, “good working with you.”  
  
“Shut up,” Jongin says, “this isn’t goodbye. What, you have no faith in me?”  
  
Sehun wants to shrug, but he’s got a bomb strapped to him, and any movement might trigger it. It’s quite a dilemma.  
  
One minute.  
  
“You’re too stubborn,” Sehun sighs, head dropping backwards to bounce off the wall.  
  
“Says you,” Jongin replies automatically. He pinches a red wire between his thumb and forefinger. “Okay. Ready?”  
  
Yeah, as long as you’re here.  
  
Sehun nods, a curt jerk of his head.  
  
Jongin snips the wire in a fraction of a second.  
  
Nothing explodes.  
  
“Oh god,” Jongin breathes. The small pair of scissors drops from his hand as he hurries to pull the device off of Sehun.  
  
It’s not until the device is safely within the hands of the bomb squad — they’d just arrived on the scene — does Sehun let himself succumb to the sheer intensity of the situation.  
  
He sinks to the ground, giving no shits about how filthy the floor is, and cradles his head in his hands. He’d been minutes away from sure death, but Kim-fucking-Jongin had made it his life’s mission to diffuse the bomb. God, what would he do without his partner?  
  
“Hey,” Jongin says, sliding down to sit next to Sehun. “You okay?”  
  
Sehun looks up, sees the concern in Jongin’s eyes, and feels better for it.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “Thanks to you.”  
  
Jongin laughs, the sound a little overwhelming, and Sehun can’t seem to look away.  
  
His gaze drops automatically to Jongin’s mouth, and it doesn’t take a detective to notice it. Neither one seems to know what to do. When Sehun swallows, Jongin’s tongue darts out to lick his lips.  
  
Someone leans in first — Sehun can’t really tell who —, but Sehun’s the one to reel back, clearing his throat as he hurries to stand.  
  
“I’m gonna —” He gestures desperately towards the door, and books it.  
  
Everything inside him seems to explode.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**viii. idiocy.**  
  
“Have you realised,” Seulgi says, spinning around in her chair to face Minho. “That we work with two idiots?”

Minho points his pen at Sehun and Jongin’s desks. “Them?”  
  
“Uh huh. You’d think that them, out of everyone, would have figured out that they’re _pining_ for each other, yeah? A detective and a special agent — both stupidly oblivious. Unbelievable.”  
  
Johnny blinks in confusion. “What?”  
  
Seulgi rounds on him, eyes wide. “You haven’t noticed either?”  
  
“Noticed what..?”  
  
“How they practically _moon_ over each other!” Seulgi exclaims. “Jongin teases Sehun, and Sehun takes it like he’s born to, although he complains incessantly about it. Sehun spends most of his time trying to keep Jongin safe, and Jongin doesn’t care about his safety because he knows Sehun’s got his back. And my god, they bicker like they’ve been together for twenty years.”  
  
“Oh,” Johnny says, still sounding confused. “That. Wait, are they not together?”  
  
Minho snorts, and Seulgi spreads her arms out, palms facing upwards. “Exactly.”  
  
At that moment, Sehun and Jongin enter the bullpen, squabbling over something probably irrelevant to everyone else but them. Jongin’s got his fingers wrapped around Sehun’s wrist, and Sehun’s got his classic Exasperated, Yet Fond look on his face.  
  
“God, why are you like this,” Sehun bemoans, sliding into his chair like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jongin shrugs and reaches out to squeeze Sehun’s neck.  
  
“Every relationship has its ups and downs,” he says.  
  
“You two finally realised that you’ve been married for the past year?”  
  
“Don’t be stupid,” Sehun says automatically.  
  
“We’re not married,” Jongin scoffs, rolling his eyes.  
  
Seulgi turns to look at Minho, eyes wide with disbelief.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**ix. ask, and i’ll tell.**  
  
Sehun’s lips are a lot looser when he’s drunk. In fact, Jongin only ever manages to pry information from his partner when he’s drunk. It’s not the best method, but it is the most efficient.  
  
“Wasn’t great, growing up. I came out to my parents when I turned fifteen, and my brother was the only one who took it well. My dad wanted to send me off to a military school,” Sehun mumbles, absently running his fingers across the etched designs of his scotch glass. “You know, because of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. He thought the military would… _suppress_ it to the point where I wouldn’t be gay. Fuck, the day that DADT got repealed felt like a personal victory, to be honest.”  
  
They’re out on Sehun’s patio, celebrating the end of another case with a bottle of Jongin’s scotch. It’d been a hard case for Sehun — a string of hate crimes targeted towards gay couples of both genders.  
  
“My mother chose to pretend I never said anything. She would constantly try to set me up with the daughters of her friends. I brought a boy home, once. During my senior year. She kept referring to him as my ‘friend’. My brother, bless his soul, stuck up for me and got grounded repeatedly as a result.”  
  
Sehun drains the rest of the amber liquid in his glass and sets it down on the table, staring at the sparse beads of condensation. He drags a finger through the wetness.  
  
“I just… stopped trying. To date, I mean.”  
  
“You shouldn’t let them stop how you want to live your life,” Jongin says.  
  
“Yeah, that sounds better in theory. It’s just easier this way. No disapproval, you know? Sure, my dad looks at me like I’ve gone wrong somewhere whenever I go home, but looks are easier to ignore.”  
  
Sighing, Sehun scrubs at his face with a hand. His eyes are bloodshot, and there are shadows clinging to them.  
  
Jongin reaches out and rests his hand on the slope of Sehun’s shoulder. The latter doesn’t move away; instead, he moves closer to Jongin’s warmth, eyes sliding shut as he slumps a little lower in his chair.  
  
They sit in silence for a while, Jongin’s thumb running absently along a tendon on the side of Sehun’s neck.  
  
“I never came out to my parents,” Jongin finally says. “Only to my sisters. It helps that I’ve never been with a guy longer than a couple of months, I guess.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why I haven’t told my parents or why my track record with guys is so bad?”  
  
“Both.”  
  
“Scared, I suppose. My mother has never been very supportive of her children in general, and my father’s been absent for most of my life. I don’t really have anything to gauge how he’d react.”  
  
Sehun opens his eyes and turns his head to regard his partner.  
  
“I’d tell you what you just told me minutes ago, but I’m afraid that’ll make you sound like a hypocrite.”  
  
Jongin rolls his eyes.  
  
“Anyway,” Sehun says. “Go on.”  
  
“It’s always been easier dating women, I guess. The men I’ve met, that I’ve been with; they never want anything more than a fling. They’re quick to come, quick to go.”  
  
“We’re both jaded as hell, aren’t we?”  
  
Jongin’s mouth curls, and his hand remains a solid weight on Sehun’s shoulder. “Yeah. What a match made in heaven.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**x. ten years.**  
  
Sehun takes a day off work one day, and doesn’t tell the rest of the team why. But it takes Jongin just a few minutes to figure it all out.  
  
During his lunch break, Jongin drives to the cemetery, a bouquet of white lilies resting on Sehun’s empty seat. He parks near Sehun’s car, and scans the area a couple of times before finally spotting someone across the lot.  
  
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft so as not to spook Sehun. The man’s kneeling in front of his aunt’s grave, palms clasped in his lap, face void of any emotion. Jongin sets the bouquet down and takes a step back. “You okay?”  
  
‘Why are you here?”  
  
“Wanted to check on you. Pay my respects to your aunt.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Sehun says shortly. “And thanks for the flowers. Go back to work.”  
  
“I’m not leaving,” Jongin says. “How many times have you been able to share your grief with someone else?”  
  
“Why the fuck does that matter,” Sehun sighs. His jaw works, tensing and relaxing.  
  
“In what world does keeping it all pent up inside you sound like a good idea?”  
  
Sehun doesn’t reply, and Jongin’s pretty sure that he’s glaring down at the grass. But he waits, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants as a breeze tugs through strands of his hair.  
  
“She – her life was less important than _gambling_. He was willing to put her in danger as long as he had enough money to gamble. She was one of the only people who loved me for me. She supported everything I wanted to do, even if it was honest-to-god stupid and she knew I’d fail. She was the mother I wished I had. And he just gave her up.”  
  
He runs a hand through his hair, head hanging low.  
  
“I wanted to kill him. I wanted to take the five bullets they found inside her and place them in his body instead. I wanted to make him suffer as much as he made her suffer. I was so angry, Jongin.”  
  
“Anger’s good. Better to feel something than nothing.”  
  
Sehun laughs, sad and hollow.  
  
“I miss her.”  
  
“I know you do.”  
  
Sehun reaches out and fingers a lily petal.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**xi. can i have your number?**  
  
Her voice is shrill, and it’s starting to really rub Sehun the wrong way.  
  
They’re at the gym – Sehun occupied with a punching bag and Jongin with free weights –, and a petite girl is trying her very best to get Jongin’s number. Jongin himself is either the dumbest person alive, or he’s trying his best not to give out his number. He’s polite enough, the smile on his face passing for friendly, and Sehun rolls his eyes for the sixth time in five minutes when she giggles and reaches out to touch Jongin’s bicep.  
  
Choosing to refocus his attention on beating the crap out of the punching bag hanging sadly in front of him, Sehun manages to go for another ten minutes before Jongin appears in front of him.  
  
“I’ve been alive almost three decades, and I still haven’t figured out the best way to turn someone down.”  
  
Sehun gives him a mildly incredulous look and yanks on the velcro straps holding his boxing gloves in place.  
  
“Is that what you were trying to do back there?”  
  
Jongin promptly distracts him – unintentionally – by pulling the hem of his tank up to wipe at the sweat on his brow. Jesus, those abs are probably hard enough to cause a concussion if someone ran at him fast enough.  
  
“Well,” he starts, “yeah?”  
  
“Why? She’s objectively pretty, is she not?”  
  
“Sure,” Jongin says, shrugging. “But I’m not interested in her.”  
  
“That implies you’re interested in someone else.”  
  
At that, Jongin gives him a slow, easy smile. Sehun’s stomach flips.  
  
“Yeah, I guess it does.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**xii. home.**  
  
The perp’s got a split lip and a gash right by his right eye, but Jongin doesn’t seem to be pulling his punches. Not a single cop out of the dozens standing around even seem remotely interested in stopping Jongin from beating the child murderer _and_ molestor to a bloody pulp.  
  
Sehun understands where Jongin’s coming from. Jongin has three nieces, all within the age range of the victim profile. The case had been a stressful one for the entire city, as the number of victims steadily increased over the course of three weeks. One child was found dead, ligature marks around her small neck, stuffed into a storm drain and dressed in nothing but shoes.  
  
Sehun had suggested that Jongin take himself off the case, but Jongin had looked at him with pure fury in his eyes – the first time in their year and a half of partnership – and Sehun never suggested it again.  
  
So he looks away from Jongin and the perp, looks across the road at the small house where the sick fucker lived for thirty-eight years of his life. He feels his skin crawl when he thinks about the atrocities that went down inside those walls.  
  
It’s only when he hears a dull crunch does he step forward. The perp’s doubled over, blood dripping thickly from his broken nose. Jongin’s knuckles are bruised and bloody, and he’s got angry tears in his eyes.  
  
“Hey,” Sehun murmurs, lips close to the shell of Jongin’s ear. “Time to stop.”  
  
Jongin ignores him, fingers already forming another fist. Sehun sighs and reaches out to close his own hand over Jongin’s.  
  
“Jongin, please.”  
  
“You know what he did, Sehun. He deserves it. He deserves to –”  
  
“Yeah, I know. And he’ll get what he deserves. But you know what else? I also know that you don’t deserve whatever will happen to you if you keep doing this. This isn’t going to erase anything he’s done to those children. It’s not going to bring Jacqueline back. Focus on the fact that you helped stop him. That so many other children are safe because he’s no longer able to get to them.”  
  
Those tears are falling, hot and fast, plummeting down the curve of Jongin’s cheekbones.  
  
Sehun reaches up and swipes them away with the back of his fingers.  
  
“Time to stop,” he repeats. Jongin gazes at him, glossy eyes holding a mixture of pain, frustration, and fear.  
  
“Those kids,” Jongin says, voice thick. “They could’ve easily been –”  
  
“But they weren’t. Okay? They weren’t. You know what you should do? Call them, right now. Just call them and listen to their voices. Maybe Facetime them. Yeah? Don’t stay here, not around all this. Go home and call them.”  
  
Sehun’s still got Jongin’s hand in his. Despite looking like they’re not listening, Sehun knows everyone within earshot has their ears perked up. Seulgi is blatantly staring.  
  
The second Jongin deflates, Sehun gives Minho a tiny nod. As Minho steps forward to push the perp away, Sehun drops Jongin’s hand and guides him back to their car with a hand pressed to his back.  
  
When Jongin’s seated behind the wheel, Sehun leans in and gives him a hug. Jongin sags against him, fingers digging into the flesh of Sehun’s shoulders. There’s a wetness blooming on his neck, and Sehun feels his heart ache.  
  
“Do you want me to come with you?”  
  
“Yeah.” Instant, no hesitation.  
  
“Okay. Do you… want me to drive?”  
  
At that, Jongin pulls back. “But you don’t like driving when I’m in the car.”  
  
“I can today, if you want.”  
  
“But –”  
  
“Look,” Sehun says, squatting down so that he doesn’t have to bend awkwardly. “I’ll drive everyday for the next month if that means you’ll feel better.”  
  
Jongin smiles. It’s wobbly, and definitely still sad, but there’s a glimmer of gratitude that Sehun picks up on.  
  
“It’s okay,” Jongin says. “I can drive. I’d rather drive, anyway. Makes it feel more… normal.”  
  
“Alright,” Sehun agrees. “Anything you want. Give me a minute, okay?”  
  
When Sehun gets to his feet and shuts the driver’s door, Jongin exhales and watches as Sehun goes to talk to Seulgi, probably informing her that they’re taking their leave.  
  
“You could give me you,” he mumbles wistfully.  
  
Outside, Sehun looks over at him in the middle of his conversation with Seulgi. Their eyes lock, and Sehun offers up a smile that Jongin promptly returns. The tear tracks on his face are drying, and Jongin rubs the remaining traces away with his hand. He tries not to think about how Sehun’s hands are softer, how they feel just right against his skin.  
  
The passenger’s side door opens, and Sehun gets into the car.  
  
“Let’s go home,” he says.  
  
Jongin inserts the key into the ignition and starts the engine.  
  
“Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Jongin ♡
> 
> Thank you for being you, for breathing life and passion into dance, for always loving your fans.  
> Thank you for always being there for Sehun, for letting him be there for you, for sharing both the ups and the downs with your best friend.
> 
> I hope Sehun got you some cake :3
> 
> I love you lots!
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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